Like an Imprint, You Linger
by bethaboo
Summary: Returning to New York from California for Chuck and Blair's wedding, Nate has a run-in with an unexpected guest. A Nate/Jenny story in three parts, with a generous hint of Chair. Post 3x22-AU.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I started this story about three months ago, working on it whenever I had a free moment, or when I needed a break from my longer stories. Then, as Christmas approached this year, I decided it needed to be a big "thank you, love you" present for both comewhatmay and The Very Last Valkryie. So, this 17,000+ word beast is going to be split into three chapters, one posted each day until Christmas.**

**Lyrics are from "Same Changes" by The Weepies.**

**This story takes place about five-sixish years after the Season 3 finale, but disregards everything that has happened in S4. I consider it my magnum opus of evidence that Nate/Jenny should happen, and that YES, Jenny should have been (and could have been) redeemed after her S3 epic fail.**

* * *

_Arms around my body;_

_kisses on my skin._

_I walk away, I walk away,_

_but he lingers._

In the beginning, back before his world had splintered apart, Nathaniel Archibald had had a very specific dream.

Before his dad had become a cokehead and an embezzler and had left the country, and then returned, only to be sent to jail.

Before he'd been secretly in love with his girlfriend's best friend, before he'd slept with her, only to find out that she'd left town the next morning, leaving him to a year of misery and numbness and doubt.

Before said best friend had returned to town, and he'd had to tell the truth to his girlfriend.

Before his girlfriend had decided an eye for an eye wasn't merely an ancient cliché, and had slept with _his _best friend. Before his ex-girlfriend had fallen in love with his best friend and they'd torn apart anything left standing , all for their all-encompassing love and equally all-encompassing hatred for one another.

Before all that, Nate Archibald had had a dream. Go to California—to USC, to Stanford, to Berkeley, just somewhere that wasn't on the East Coast; somewhere his grandfather's influence couldn't reach—and try to discover the part of himself that had never belonged in the Upper East Side.

In the wreck of who he'd believed was his true love, he'd tried the cure that Chuck had always sworn by: women, women, and more women. But it only took a few weeks before Nate realized that it hadn't ever been a cure. Chuck had been lying. It didn't make you feel any better to lie in the arms of a woman you didn't love. That you didn't even _know_. It didn't make you feel any less alone; it made you feel _more _alone.

But he couldn't call Chuck and tell him that he'd been wrong because Chuck was gone, in Europe somewhere, and wouldn't return his calls or his texts.

Serena had left too, not for good, but for long enough—long enough for him to know that she'd probably never loved him. But then, had Serena ever really loved anyone except for herself? Worst of all, she'd taken Blair with her, ostensibly so Blair could recover from the latest meltdown with Chuck, but Nate knew better. Nate knew _Serena _better. She'd taken Blair for her own comfort after the breakup—fuck his own ability to repair himself.

Blair, despite being the person who could have torn him apart, had instead become one of his best friends. Though it had been odd at first, they'd learned to resurrect the one part of their relationship that had ever worked—their friendship—and he'd missed it. He'd missed _her_. Not the same way he'd missed Serena, but whatever it was, he still felt _left_. Empty. Lonely. Alone.

Nate did the only thing left to him, the one thing he hadn't done before because he'd been too scared to leave the comforting environs of the Upper East Side behind. But now there was nothing left for him, nothing to feel bad about leaving because he'd already been left first.

So he left too.

He packed his bags and flew across the country and enrolled at the University of Southern California. Under the bright sun, things became alarmingly simple. Nate kept waiting for the complexity, for the Machiavellian manipulations, the backstabbing and the blackmailing to start. It never did, and gradually, Nate began to relax, to smile again. To not think about Serena every time he saw a tall blond girl walking down the street.

He graduated from USC and without his grandfather's influence got a job in politics, and he discovered, away from the brilliant, twisted minds of Chuck and Blair, he could be pretty smart. Not as smart as them—or as perverse, he'd think with a smirk—but he was good at what he did, and even better, he enjoyed it.

Time marched on, and though he went home once or twice a year, he felt removed almost completely from that lost, aching, numb boy who'd sat through all those Upper East Side cocktail parties—waiting for his best friend to supply him with some drug that would miraculously make all this tolerable; waiting for a girl with a forced smile and too straight posture; waiting for her blond best friend to finally come home.

Chuck would call, because even though they lived on opposite ends of the country, Chuck was the kind of guy who would call even if you were on a different planet. Sometimes Nate thought he called just to complain about Blair and Nate always rolled his eyes when he heard the latest blowup that had happened between them.

He always said the same thing when Chuck brought up Blair: "Man, I'm so glad it isn't me."

And, no matter how much he complained, Chuck would typically say the same thing back: "And I'm glad it is."

Usually, Nate didn't begrudge Chuck the upheaval that Blair, possibly the most managing woman in the world, caused him, but whenever his best friend said that, Nate couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit jealous.

For the longest time, he'd thought he'd met his soul mate in Serena. He'd known her his entire life, and at least for a little while, she'd made the burden of being Nate Archibald lighter. But Serena hadn't been his soul mate; she'd never made him feel whole. He'd never felt that way, not once, and that was something he could envy.

Chuck had met his soul mate, but where was Nate's?

Two years after college graduation, Nate was on the balcony of his townhouse one evening, watching the sun set over the Pacific, a cold beer in his hand, when his phone rang. He briefly checked the caller ID and was not at all surprised to see who it was.

"Chuck," Nate answered. "Good to hear from you, man. How are things?"

"Not good," Chuck said brusquely, and Nate took another drink of beer. It was going to be one of _those _conversations. For two years, Chuck had been proposing to Blair, and even though it had taken dozens of proposals, she had finally agreed to marry him. Of course, that was only the beginning

"And don't you dare say you're glad it's not you," Chuck continued, his voice harried and a lot more haggard than normal. "I'm not sleeping and I can't take your fucking sarcasm today."

"That bad, huh? I mean, I always wondered what Blair planning a wedding would be like, and well, clearly I underestimated how bad it would be."

"We _all _underestimated," Chuck said.

"I don't suppose I can bail on you. Not be your best man."

"Not a chance," Chuck growled. "If I have to fly to Southern California and airlift your sorry ass off the fucking beach, you'll be standing next to me at the front of the church."

Nate sighed. "The good news is that you only have a few weeks to go. You're in the home stretch."

"That's not really a consolation."

"You love her though," Nate said.

Chuck made a defeated sound over the phone, and Nate thought it was the closest his best friend had ever come to saying he didn't love Blair Waldorf. "You know I do. You're the first person I ever fucking told."

"At your dad's wedding? God, that was a long time ago."

"You were with Vanessa, remember?"

Nate had forgotten entirely about Vanessa Abrams. When he thought of her now, he could only vaguely remember a tangle of dark hair and an even worse tangle of necklaces. "Right. A long time ago. Serena's still the maid of honor, right? Blair hasn't, I don't know, _killed _her yet?"

"Not yet. Though there was some . . .drama over the dress Serena was going to wear. I had to intervene."

"You should have locked them in the elevator," Nate said with a laugh. "I remember when you stranded them at Cotillion."

Chuck sighed. "Blair's too smart for that now. She refuses to ever get into the elevator with anyone besides me. Oh, and Jenny."

Memories shocked him like a jolt of electricity. Jenny. _Jenny_. Even though he'd dated Vanessa Abrams on and off for two years, and he'd never actually _dated _Jennifer Humphrey, he remembered the latter—could remember every single moment he'd spent with her. Even remembered when he'd been young and stupid and had seen a blonde in a yellow dress, wearing a mask, and had automatically assumed it was Serena, the object of his then-forbidden desire. But it had been Jenny instead, and he could practically still feel the way her pulse leaped in her throat as he'd closed his arms around her, his lips brushing against the smooth skin of her neck.

"Jenny," Nate said, hoping his voice didn't sound too odd. "I haven't thought of her in awhile. A long time, actually."

"Blair's actually even more pissed at her than she is at Serena right now. She just moved to California, to work as a stylist. Finally left Eleanor's atelier. Wanted some freedom. Smart girl, actually."

"To get away from Eleanor? No kidding. Blair should have done it a long time ago."

"Blair's never going to be able to get away from Eleanor," Chuck snapped, and Nate knew there was a story there, but he was too mellow to ask. "Even when Eleanor's in Paris, she's _here_, if you get my drift."

"You knew what you were signing up for," Nate said, half-jovially, half-not-quite-so-jovially. There were moments when he imagined what his life would have been like if he'd stayed in New York, stayed on the Upper East Side, stayed with Blair. Those weren't the most pleasant of daydreams.

"I did. And let me tell you, the alternative is worse. Being with Blair is better than _not _being with Blair. I've tried it both ways, remember?"

"Man, you've tried it all kinds of ways," Nate couldn't help but say, and his best friend chuckled knowingly.

"Blair wants you to come back to New York. Permanently. Just as a friend I thought I'd warn you. Also, if I were you, I'd watch out for elevators."

"Elevators?"

"She's decided that since she's so blissfully happy with the love of her life, everyone else needs to be equally beatific."

"Oh no," Nate groaned, "not Serena again."

"She's single, and currently dateless for the wedding. And you know what that means."

"Blair has a plan." It wasn't a question but a statement. Nate might have been out of UES politics for years, but he still understood the basic tenets of social manipulation.

"I can't confirm or deny at this juncture," Chuck continued, as Nate heard the clink of ice cubes in a glass and the smooth liquid pour of scotch, "but I wouldn't be surprised. She's always wanted to see you and Serena together. Weirdly enough."

"No fucking kidding. There was a point where I thought she might castrate me for what I'd done with Serena."

"How times do change," Chuck said whimsically. "All I'm saying is that bringing a date would be a wise choice."

"What, so Blair can do to them what she's done to every single girl I've dated since her?"

"Since Serena," Chuck corrected. "That one she approved of, remember?"

"I distinctly remember going on a date with you two and Bree Buckley, and coming back to the table expecting to see that Blair had ripped Bree's head right off."

"Blair can be a trifle. . .hot-headed," Chuck said.

"Or insane," Nate muttered.

"Do you need me to find you a date?" Chuck interrupted. "I can make a call."

"To one of your old hookers? No thank you. I'll just avoid elevators while I'm in town. Besides, Blair will be too busy making sure her wedding is the most perfect that the Upper East Side has ever seen. She won't have time to play matchmaker."

"If you say so." Chuck didn't exactly sound convinced.

"I think you know something," Nate said suspiciously, "but if you tell me and Blair finds out, she _will _castrate you. Or worse, cut you off for the next six months."

Nate could practically feel the force of Chuck's smirk over the phone. "Plausible deniability. Dorota and I learned a long time ago that it's safest not to get involved when the Queen B has her sights set on something she wants."

"She doesn't want me. She's marrying you, remember?"

Chuck sighed. "You know what I mean. She wants you for Serena. And if you honestly believe that the wedding will in any way impede Blair's ability to achieve this, then you've been in California for too long. The sun has fried your brain and you've gotten soft."

"Not soft, exactly," Nate said wryly. "More like relaxed . . .laidback . . ._sane_."

"Don't say I didn't warn you. And whatever you do, don't tell Blair that I tipped you off."

* * *

His flight to New York was delayed, and Nate was prowling anxiously around the tiny airport store by his gate when he saw her.

The blond hair was shorter than when he'd last seen her, cut into a tousled, sophisticated bob, but it was definitely her. Legs still going on for days; he would recognize them anywhere.

She was looking down at her Blackberry, absorbed in what she was reading, and didn't see him coming.

"Jennifer Humphrey."

The amused shock in her blue _blue _eyes when she looked up at him made him smile for the first time today. Usually he didn't mind going back to New York, but this whole trip had him uneasy. Nate knew he should be happy for Chuck and Blair, and he _was_, but the conversation he'd had with Chuck had made him nervous about another blond and her expectations.

"Nathaniel Archibald," Jenny said with genuine smile on her face. She'd gotten beautiful—not that she hadn't been in high school, but then most girls were rather eclipsed by the stunning force of Serena and Blair—and he couldn't help but kind of gawk at the stunning woman in front of him.

They'd all called her Little J in high school, but Jenny Humphrey wasn't little anymore, that was for damn sure.

He leaned in, and brushed a kiss across her cheek, her boots making her almost as tall as he was. "It's great to see you. You on this flight?"

She nodded. "Chuck and Blair's wedding," Jenny said by way of explanation. "I had to come out here right before—though I thought she'd never forgive me."

"Blair hasn't changed," Nate said wryly, "but then you have."

Jenny shrugged. "I grew up. Didn't we all?"

"Some of us more than others. I was talking to Chuck the other day and he told me all about your success at the atelier and you moving out here to be a stylist." Nate hoped after the words had already left his mouth that this didn't sound creepy or stalkerish—as if he and Chuck Bass talked about her all the time, when in fact that had been the very first occurrence.

"I had to get away from Eleanor," Jenny said, a hint of the mischievous smile she'd always had peeping through her serious, "adult," face.

"Why do you think I moved all the way to California?" Nate asked with what he knew was his most charming smile, vaguely aware that he was flirting with Jenny Humphrey. After all this time.

Maybe Chuck had been wrong and nothing really changed.

Of course, right then, their flight number was announced over the loudspeaker and Nate scrambled. As sure as he'd been that he probably wouldn't ever see her again, suddenly she was in front of him, a miracle in $800 boots and a smile that wasn't Serena and wasn't Blair either, but something entirely her own—and he didn't want to let her go, now that he'd seen her again.

"You in first class?" he asked casually as she slipped her phone into her studded leather bag.

Jenny—was she even still Jenny, or had she finally succumbed to the more sophisticated Jennifer?—nodded, and he thought the way she couldn't take her eyes off his face might be a good sign.

"Great, me too," he said enthusiastically, as if an Archibald would ever travel coach. "Maybe we can switch and sit next to each other. Catch up."

Jenny looked as if she was actually considering this, right until they reached the gate. She turned to him, the same look on her face that he remembered from her Queen of Constance days, and smiled. "I'm sorry, I've got to work on the plane, but maybe at the wedding?"

"Of course, sure. That would be great," Nate said, aware he was babbling like a fool. Naturally every man who met Jenny Humphrey would be slavering all over her. She probably had a boyfriend. Or ten boyfriends. She hadn't been pining away for him all these years and it was ridiculous to think she would even want to talk to him. After all, he'd left the Upper East Side and never looked back. It was presumptuous of him to assume that she'd been dreaming of him in New York, while he'd been three thousand miles away in California.

* * *

He was almost down the ramp to the plane when she stopped abruptly and he almost fell right over her. "I've been thinking," she said, and he was surprised to hear a whisper of hesitancy in her normally confident voice, "do you have a date to Chuck and Blair's wedding?"

Nate shook his head. Blair would have answered differently but he had no intention of letting Hurricane Serena back into his life. He'd been there, done that, and he knew from Chuck's phone calls and his occasionally run-ins with Serena that she hadn't changed at all. She was still the same flagrant mess she'd always been, and now that he was older and (hopefully) a bit more mature, there was something distinctly unattractive about a girl, who at 26, still couldn't get her shit together.

"You're the best man. I'm not the maid of honor, but I'm still a bridesmaid. Number one bridesmaid, according to Blair."

"Blair numbered her bridesmaids?" Nate asked in surprise. But then he shouldn't have been. That seemed like fairly mild behavior when you considered some of the other things Blair had done in her endless quest for perfection.

"Oh yes," Jenny nodded. "Penelope was fairly unhappy about being relegated to number two bridesmaid, so I should be pleased with my position in the bridal party. Regardless, I'm not the maid of honor, and I know you're acquainted with her . . ." Nate took this opportunity to grimace. ". . .but I'd like you to be my date instead."

"That sounds great." And to his everlasting surprise, he found that he _really_ meant it. It was great, it was fantastic . . .and then he realized it was so great he was grinning at her like a moron.

It seemed she didn't want to turn away from him either, because she just stood there, her own smile nearly as wide as his.

"Excuse me, sir. Miss. You need to clear the passageway for the other passengers," a flight attendant insisted, and they were finally forced to make their way onto the plane, where Nate was frustratingly sat two rows behind Jenny's halo of golden hair. He spent much of the cross-country flight watching the way the slight mussed strands of her hair bobbed and weaved as she typed on her laptop, and by the end of the trip, he felt desperate and slightly deranged. As if the clock had suddenly wound back 8 years and he was 18 again, standing on a rain-slicked sidewalk, outside a pedophile's apartment, gazing at Jenny Humphrey as she demanded he explain just why he cared about her.

And the answer now wasn't anymore enlightening than the answer then had been.

Because.

* * *

After the interminable flight, she exited the plane ahead of him but he hadn't been sure that she'd wait for him by the arrival gate—he'd half expected that the next time he'd see her would be at the rehearsal dinner the next evening. But it seemed she had revisited her own side of their history, because he raised his eyes and saw her slim figure waiting at the edge of the concourse, a wry, nostalgic smile on her face.

"I had to check an additional bag," Jenny said casually as they emerged onto the main concourse, as if traveling together to their destinations was a perfectly natural assumption. It wasn't, but Nate thought he would have to be a lot dimmer to argue with her, so as she turned towards the baggage claim, he followed her.

Neither of them spoke as they waited for Jenny's bags at the baggage claim. Usually women made incessant small talk with him, awed by his job or his face or his famous family. He'd always been comfortable with Jenny though, even when it probably hadn't been in his best interests to feel that way.

He remembered the night of Blair's birthday, so many years ago, when he hadn't been able to face his ex-girlfriend and so he'd spent the evening wandering the streets of New York with Jenny. Blair had naturally been furious, and had buried her displeasure in his absence by screwing his best friend.

Had he ever imagined back then that Blair would end up marrying Chuck instead of him? It didn't bother him anymore, but back then, he'd been livid at the thought of Chuck stealing her, though in the end, it had been more him giving her up than Chuck taking her.

Regardless, he remembered that particular birthday of Blair's with crystal clarity. Remembered the street lights shining down on a sweep of blond hair, innocent, wide blue eyes gazing at him with a surprisingly wise understanding of his frustrations.

She, too, had never wanted to settle for what her family wanted. And he couldn't help but think as he glanced over at her, that, just like him, she'd left those expectations far behind.

Not shockingly, the "bag," was instead a mammoth Louis Vuitton suitcase. Jenny had always rivaled Blair and Serena in their love of fashion, but unlike their more rigid designer following, Jenny had always dressed slightly off-kilter, in a funky combination of couture and her own designs.

"Let me take that," Nate offered, grasping the handle of the heavy suitcase. "Where are you going?" he asked her, as they made their way to the revolving exit of the airport.

"The Empire, of course," Jenny said. "You?"

His mother had naturally demanded that he stay at the house for what was apparently considered the UES wedding of the year—maybe even of the decade—but he felt uncomfortable staying with her since he'd done everything he could to reject the traditions of the Archibald and Van der Bilt families.

"I thought you'd be staying with Blair at the penthouse," Nate observed, shifting the suitcase to the other arm, trying to delay or remove entirely the frisson of electricity that had spun through him at the fact she'd be in the same hotel as him for the next few days.

"She wanted me to," Jenny said wryly, "but I knew I'd need my own space, a few precious minutes away from the whole circus."

"Well, I'll be at the Empire as well. Maybe we can get a drink and a few moments of peace and quiet together."

"I'd like that," Jenny murmured, her manner more reserved than it had been only a moment prior. Nate told himself that this had nothing to do with them being under the same roof for the first time in years, that it had nothing to do with the coalescing idea that maybe, just maybe, they were both finally in the right place, in the right time, but mostly importantly, had nothing to do with that elusive first date, so many mistakes in the making, that might be finally happening between them.

"Tonight is the bachelor party," he said, as they headed toward the door. "Who knows what Chuck has planned. I'm just surprised he didn't demand a whole Lost Weekend."

"I doubt he'd get away with it now. Blair told me she had a surprise for us girls tonight. I know she wouldn't ever be as tasteless as to have a traditional bachelorette party, which means we'll probably drink martinis and be forced into watching _Breakfast at Tiffany's_."

Nate pushed the glass door open and swore as he took the brunt of a full-on bitterly cold wind.

"Fucking hell," he groaned as Jenny flagged down a cab. "Why Chuck and Blair thought a December wedding in New York was a good idea, I'll never know. It's fucking freezing."

The winter air in Orange County had been mild and refreshing , with a whisper of breeze like the softest, sweetest kiss brushing your cheek.

Winter in Manhattan was a vindictive bitch slapping you breathless in the face, her nails raking across your cheek and threatening to stab your eyes out.

A cab slowed in front of them, and Nate helped the driver stow their baggage before gratefully sliding into the warm interior of the car. "You've gotten soft," Jenny laughed softly. "Too many years of California sunshine."

"Chuck said that too, though he was accusing me of losing my manipulative edge."

"But you work in politics," she objected. "I have a feeling you could give Chuck or Blair a run for their money these days when it comes to social destruction."

All those years of Blair's petty games—the crown at Constance, the disaster of NYU, her heavy-handed attempts to control everyone at Columbia—as well as Chuck's constant PI surveillance, lockbox of secrets and under-handed business tactics, had soured him to the Upper East Side's constant need for social destruction. But Nate had never looked at it from the angle of trading one vice for another. He did his own share of scheming, just in a different realm.

"You're right," he told her and he was all-too-aware how awed he sounded. 17 year old Jenny had been a force to be reckoned with, but 24 year old Jenny was a potent hurricane of devastating smiles, keen intelligence and a halo of blond hair that he was dying to muss up.

The cab pulled up in front of the Empire Hotel. He didn't want this bizarre, nostalgic interlude to end just yet, but he couldn't come up with a good reason to extend it. After all, they only had a few hours to get settled before this evenings' wedding festivities began. Reluctantly, Nate shoved a handful of bills in the driver's direction, and reluctantly exited the cab, shielding his face against the blinding wind and the snow flurries whipping through his hair.

Jenny was already outside, gathering her bags, and Nate grabbed the massive suitcase again, following her into the foyer of the hotel.

The Empire looked busier even than Nate remembered. Of course Chuck was more successful than ever, the hotel his jewel in the crown of a New York real estate empire already rivaling his father's.

A staff member instantly recognized Jenny. "Miss Humphrey," the young woman exclaimed, "it's so good to have you back with us." Jenny followed the concierge over to the privately-situated desk behind a potted palm. "Your usual suite, yes?"

Jenny nodded, and the woman looked up at him, questions in her eyes. Nate was speechless for a second, then belatedly remembered that he'd been out of the city for so long that he wouldn't be recognized by sight alone. It was an odd feeling—to be the unknown entity in comparison to Jenny's _your usual suite_. Not bad, just. . .odd.

"I'm also a guest of Mr. Bass," he explained. "Nate Archibald."

"Ah, yes. Mr. Archibald." The woman typed briskly on the recessed keyboard. "Mr. Bass' best man in the wedding."

Nate told himself that it was good to be known now simply as Chuck's best man, and not for his father's coke habit, fraudulent business practices, and then his parents' nasty divorce after the Captain was finally released from prison. Nevermind the bevy of blondes that had always trailed after him, Jenny included, and the gossip from when he'd broken up with the bride.

It had been forever ago, but standing here next to Jenny, the corner of her lips upturned at the concierge's inability to recognize him, it felt more like days or months than years.

"I'll show you to your rooms," the woman said, and Nate and Jenny trailed after her, taking the elevator not up to the penthouse that had always been Chuck's—and then for a year had been his too—but to the floor directly underneath it. "The family floor," Jenny murmured, leaning in close enough so that he could catch the barest hint of the perfume she wore.

The elevator doors dinged open, and he was surprised to see only a handful of doors in the expansive, luxurious hallway. The concierge showed him to the first door on the left, and to his surprise, Jenny turned and slid a keycard she'd extracted from her bag into the recessed slot next to the door across from his.

She caught him gaping at her, and laughed. "You lived here," Nate said, his jaw barely staying closed. "_Here_. At the Empire. With Chuck only a floor away. How the hell did you manage that? I thought Blair banished you from Manhattan."

Nate knew instantly that he'd said the wrong thing. Jenny's face closed and her eyes went icy—a barren, cold blue—and her back straightened as Blair's always had when you insulted her, even by accident.

"I'll see you at the rehearsal dinner," Jenny told him, her voice an aural representation of the Great Wall of China. "Have fun at your bachelor party." Before he could even echo the sentiment, and demand an explanation for why she was so pissed (though he thought he might already know), the door was shut unceremoniously in his face.

He briefly contemplated knocking on the door and trying to figure out how to apologize, but that was before he realized, hand poised just over the thick mahogany, that it was a huge mistake to go in now.

As Chuck would have said, he didn't have any weapons, he didn't even know the lay of the land, so what were the chances of him winning the war? Or even the battle?

Nate dropped his hand to his side, and turned back to his own door, keycard in hand.

_Chuck_. He would be able to tell him everything that had happened with Jenny. He wasn't sure why he hadn't been told, though Chuck rarely indulged in UES gossip when they spoke on the phone, and Blair usually complained about Chuck. Serena always wanted to have phone sex. So the subject had never really come up before. He couldn't ask Blair and risk having his mild interest blown out of proportion. Serena was also completely out of the question. But Chuck would tell him what he needed to know and not make a bigger deal out of this whole thing than it was.

Glancing at the clock, Nate realized he'd have to hurry or he might be late. As he stepped into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and shucked his clothes, he told himself that all he wanted was the right information, and then to use it to apologize for bringing up the entire subject.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: And here's part two! One more part to go, which will post tomorrow :)**

**

* * *

**

_And everyone says,_

_this love will change you._

_But I ask, _

_does anything ever stay the same?_

What was it about Nate Archibald, Jenny thought as she straightened her flyaway hair, that never failed to make her feel sixteen again? A bumbling, child-woman, who no matter how much she tried, could never quite catch him. For so many other girls—numerous blonds, what felt like dozens of brunettes, and even a handful of redheads—he'd fallen like a ripe plum into their hands with almost no effort at all. But not her. Never her.

Maybe it was just that she didn't like to lose.

Or maybe it was because she'd never been able to move past him, to forget him as easily as he'd forgotten her. Yes, he'd looked happy to see her, even flirting with her only moments after they'd begun chatting, but if the past was any indication, he'd move on eventually without having made any definitive decision one way or the other.

It galled her still, and if he hadn't been so knee-weakingly familiar, she would have shut him down indefinitely. But he was still Nate Archibald and she was still Jenny Humphrey so that was too much to ask for, apparently.

Her phone rang—Blair's ring, which sounded more like an 5 alarm siren than a ringtone—and Jenny leaned over, setting down the straightener on the bathroom counter as she nestled the phone between her head and her ear.

As usual Blair didn't wait for a greeting. "Where are you?" she demanded, that dreaded tone of hysteria trickling through her voice. Everyone had suspected that Blair would raise the concept of bridezilla to new heights, but she'd put even the estimations to shame. Jenny hadn't been able to resist flying out to California right before the wedding to sign the closing papers on the wonderful condo in Orange County that Chuck had found for her—partly because it needed to be done, and partly because she couldn't wait to get away from Blair's mounting anxiety about having the most perfect wedding the Upper East Side had ever seen.

Blair hadn't been very pleased at all by Jenny's last minute trip, but she hadn't said so because she correctly assumed that if she had, she'd lose her #1 bridesmaid.

"At the hotel," Jenny said calmly, hoping it would rub off but knowing it wouldn't. "I just flew in and I'm getting ready now. What's the problem?"

"Eleanor. And Harold." Blair's words were short, succinct, punctuated with a frustration that Jenny more than understood. Weddings were, unfortunately, more about the families than the bride and groom themselves. As high-strung as Blair was, Eleanor was even worse, and though she and her ex-husband no longer had trouble being civil, they almost never agreed on anything. As for the groom, both his real parents might be dead, but Lily Van der Woodsen, Serena, and even Rufus, could be enough of a burden.

"Is Serena there?" Jenny asked.

"Honestly, I have no idea where she went," Blair sounded annoyed and Jenny wasn't sure she blamed her.

"Well, send Harold out. For something, anything. Actually, isn't he going to the bachelor party?"

"Roman didn't approve." Jenny could nearly feel the force of Blair's eye roll through the phone.

"What? Wait. . ." Jenny paused, cursing herself for even caring. "Where's the bachelor party being held?"

"Victrola," Blair sighed. "Chuck bought it for me as a wedding present. I thought I told you."

Jenny personally thought of all the wedding presents Chuck had purchased for his bride—and there were numerous—Victrola was the strangest present of all. An old-fashioned burlesque didn't sound much like the Blair she knew.

"So he's having his bachelor party at the burlesque club you own."

"Yes." Blair's voice brokered no argument and no explanation.

"And what about this does Roman not like?"

"I wish I understood. Maybe he's afraid all the semi-nudity and titillation will scare my father straight."

"Doubtful," Jenny observed.

"Regardless," Blair snapped suddenly, "he's not going. So he's arguing with Eleanor, naturally. Get here, and get them out of my hair before I decide to elope."

Blair clicked her phone shut, so succinctly Jenny could hear the snap of the phone as it shut in her ear. She dug her makeup bag out of her suitcase and proceeded to try to repair the ravages of a cross-country flight before Blair decided to call with more demands.

Yes, she'd told Blair to take care of the problem, but what Jenny had learned over the last six months of wedding planning was that there was a reason she'd been made #1 Bridesmaid—and it wasn't because she'd look lovely in the wedding photo. Serena, though dear, couldn't organize or plan or bully to save her life, but Jenny could. So though she was technically the first bridesmaid, Jenny more thought of herself as the maid of honor; the lynchpin that would guarantee that the nuptials happened at all.

Half an hour later, the ting of the elevator doors opening into the Waldorf penthouse announced her arrival. Before the door was even fully open, Dorota was there—obstinately to take her coat, but Jenny knew better. Of all the many people present for this wedding, Dorota was the one with the best ability to calm her Miss Blair down. And if Dorota looked that harried, then dismissing Harold must not have gone very well at all.

"Is everything okay?" Jenny asked in a hushed tone. "Did Serena come back?"

"Miss Serena gone. Miss Blair in a huff. And Mr. Harold. . .he and Miss Eleanor have many fight today. Too many fight." Dorota didn't say it in as many words, but Jenny knew she'd be in charge of making it right—she didn't mind, really, and it was her way of atoning for what they called "The Bad Times."

Pushing from her mind Nate's words from earlier, Jenny walked into the living room to see Blair reclining on the settee, a cold compress on her face, and Harold and Eleanor glaring at each other from either end of the sofa.

"Blair," Jenny asked, though she already knew the answer, "what time are your guests arriving?"

Blair mumbled something but the fabric over her face made it impossible to understand her.

"They'll be here in an hour," Jenny said calmly, but firmly. "Eleanor. Harold. Go take Roman and go out to dinner. Blair, you need to get up, and stop feeling sorry for yourself." Blair removed the compress and rose up, her eyes shooting daggers at Jenny, but she continued, having been around Blair long enough that she'd ceased to be scared of Blair's dramatics. "Get up," Jenny repeated, "and Dorota will help you get ready, while I make sure everything is in place for the party."

Nobody looked happy, but then nobody argued either. As they did her bidding, Jenny thought to herself that it had been a _long _time since she'd first entered the Waldorf penthouse—and she'd come a _long _way from being that scared little priss. She'd been 15 years old, new to the Upper East Side, new to manipulation, new to taking control of her own destiny. Now, seven years later, it felt like a comfortable jacket in the perfect size, appropriate for every occasion. She only had to slip it on, and people listened. It only seemed to be missing from her expansive closet whenever Nate Archibald came around.

* * *

"I saw Jenny on the plane," Nate said expansively, as he and Chuck laid back on the amber velvet settee right in front of the stage at Victrola. He was three double scotches in, a pleasant buzz building in the base of his stomach, and he was relaxed enough not hesitate to bring up the younger Humphrey.

Chuck didn't appear to be listening though—just as Nate had been since this morning, he appeared to be entirely caught up in the past. "Do you know," Chuck said, turning his glass so the golden liquid sparkled in the dim lights, "that it started right here? On this very couch."

Nate had become very comfortable with the idea of Chuck and Blair. But this was a bit much, even for him. "In Victrola?" he asked, because he knew that regardless of what he did or didn't say, he'd be hearing it anyway.

"No, right here. On this couch. I think it might actually be the very same one."

"Oh." Nate shifted uneasily.

"Did you ever know that the night before her seventeenth birthday, right after she broke up with you, she walked up onto that stage and took her clothes off?"

This was news to Nate. He'd known that Blair had started something with Chuck around that time, but he hadn't been aware that she'd become a stripper to do it.

"She took her clothes off for you?"

"Not exactly," Chuck said, his eyes drifting over to his best friend. "I think it was actually more for her."

Nate thought this conversation wasn't going anywhere fast, and he wanted the dish on Jenny. So he tried again. "Today. Jenny Humphrey. I saw her."

"Right," Chuck said, and Nate realized with a pulse of annoyance that he'd been listening after all, just ignoring him. "What do you want with her?"

Nate supposed he should have expected the question but it caught him off guard.

"It's more like . . .what the hell happened? I mean . . ." Nate trailed off, realizing that he was going to have to bring up the fact that _Chuck _had been the recipient of what he had wanted all along, and that was where the whole mess had started.

"You mean after I fucked her, and Blair ran away to Paris with Serena?" Chuck shrugged. "Why do you care?"

"Because." It still seemed as good an answer as any.

Chuck's gaze narrowed, and Nate realized that neither of them were nearly drunk enough to be discussing this—especially Chuck. "You want another drink?" Nate asked, trying to be casual, but sure that Chuck could see right through him.

"You really want to talk about UES gossip during my bachelor party? My last night of freedom from the chains of matrimony?"

"You've been eager for that particular bondage for a long time now," Nate replied wryly. " You've been wanting to marry her since we were seventeen."

"True," Chuck admitted, his voice finally sounding like he'd drank half a bottle of scotch. "But back then it was more about claiming her for me and nobody else."

"Still."

"I just don't understand how Jenny went from _persona non grata_, to Blair's #1 bridesmaid. Nevermind the drug peddling and the Elvira getups."

"She was young. Confused. Caught between two worlds," Chuck said whimsically. "I guess you weren't lying when you said you wanted to gossip. You want to gossip _and _discuss Jenny's teenage psyche."

"No. I just want to understand. For some reason, she's back in everyone's graces and I didn't even know."

"She grew up. Like we all did."

Nate knew Chuck well enough—they'd been best friends since they were five, after all—to know he was definitely not telling him the whole story.

"Chuck."

Chuck sighed. "You must really like her. But then, you've always liked her. Which is why I never understood why _I _had to take her virginity."

"You know I was dating Serena."

Chuck waved his glass expansively. "And that stopped you? _Why_?"

"Just tell me," Nate ground out.

"So you know that Blair banished her from New York. And after I came back from Europe, I was trying to be a good person . . .a better person."

Chuck paused and Nate supplied the words he was looking for. "For Blair. You wanted to be a better person for Blair."

"Exactly. Though it turns out she's just as bad as I am, so why bother sugar-coating it anymore? What happened with Jenny was fate just being a bitch. No one's fault. It took me months, but I finally convinced Blair to even _see _me, and then Jenny came back and Blair heard her out, and after that, by our junior year at Columbia, Jenny was working for Eleanor and she and Blair were close again. Closer than before, even."

"Blair just forgave her?" Nate remembered years of Constance battles, where forgiveness was like bread handed out during a famine.

Chuck shrugged. "I suppose Jenny told her the whole story, and Blair understood."

"You know as well as I do, Blair does not just _understand_," Nate said darkly as dancers lined up on the wooden stage, all hoping to get the Great Bass' attention, though none of them had yet realized that particular train has sailed the moment Blair Waldorf deigned to glance his direction.

"All I'll say, Archibald, is that Jenny convinced her. Why or how is up to you to figure out."

Nate grimaced in frustration. "Chuck, this is ridiculous. Just tell me."

"it's not my secret to tell. It's hers. For the record, she texted me this afternoon, saying she'd seen you and talked to you. And that you brought up the bad times." Chuck paused, leaning towards Nate, his eyes suddenly deadly serious. "Jenny is my sister, despite our past. And if you harm one hair on her head, I'll make sure you don't go back to California in one piece. She's a good girl, and she's more than atoned for the havoc she wreaked back then. Despite what I know you think of us, we are capable of forgiving and forgetting and I'm going to suggest strongly that you follow suit." Chuck got to his feet and without anther word left in search for a fresh glass of scotch, leaving Nate sitting on the couch, speechless and shocked. Chuck hadn't just defended Jenny—he'd literally claimed her as his sister.

And as much as he didn't want to remember the past—not the lovely, rose-tinged moments when he'd almost fallen in love with Jenny Humphrey, but the times when he'd let her down, had left her in tears and dashed her hopes—Chuck's words pushed him right into it, and he was suddenly in a dark penthouse suite, and he was a breath away from either a horrible mistake or the best decision he'd ever made.

He'd never known which, because before he could, that bitch, fate, had intervened and Jenny had set herself on fire with his best friend as the match.

Chuck returned with two glasses of scotch, and Nate nodded his thanks as he took a big swallow, feeling the liquid slide, fiery and hot, down his throat.

"Now," Chuck said conversationally, as if they'd never discussed Jenny, "are we going to get smashed or what?"

* * *

It was 2 AM before Jenny got back to the Empire, half-drunk and exhausted, more ready than she could remember to fall into bed. Blair had managed to pull herself together, as she always did, and they'd enjoyed a near-perfect replica of one of Blair's famous "soirees" from her Constance days. Blair had received enough expensive lingerie to outfit an entire flotilla of Victoria Secret Angels, but she'd drunkenly announced that Bass had promised her an entirely naked honeymoon.

And even though the entire UES had claimed to forgive and forget what she'd done with Blair's fiancée, every single pair of eyes had latched onto her, waiting to see if she would react—but Jenny had learned to keep her expression perfectly neutral, an amused smile plastered on her face.

There were a lot of reasons, Jenny thought as she dried her face on a soft, fluffy towel, why she was moving to California, but this was one of them. Sometimes she felt as if she would never be able to leave Bad Jenny behind. She followed her wherever she went in New York, which was why she'd finally decided that maybe it was time to leave it behind. When Blair had banished her, she'd hated leaving the city, but this time she was leaving on her terms. Her choice.

Her phone rang, the soft beep of an unknown caller, and she glanced at it briefly, wondering who would be calling her at 2 AM. But just as she was about to hit ignore, Jenny realized that the area code was from California. Though she tried to stay calm, Jenny knew her pulse was racing and her heart was beating just a little bit faster as she answered.

"Hello?"

The background noise was overwhelming, music and people yelling and clapping so loudly that she could barely hear the caller. "Hello?" she said again, her voice more insistent.

"It's Nate." He was slurring his words, and Jenny couldn't help but smile.

"You're drunk dialing me," she stated with amusement.

"Of course," he giggled. "I don't wanna you to hate me. I'm sorry, Jenny-girl."

Her heart clenched. He cared that he'd hurt her feelings. Nobody else, not a single person at the bachelorette party had appeared sorry that they'd judged her. Not even Blair had said anything. But Nate, dear sweet, darling Nate, cared enough to call her and apologize.

She wanted to melt, but the memories of what had happened before, when she wanted him so badly and he'd never really wanted her, stopped her. "You're sorry?" she asked archly. "For what?"

He sighed, the sound barely audible over the crowd noise. "Don't be mad. Not at me."

Jenny suddenly realized what had happened. He'd asked Chuck. And Chuck had told him. She closed her eyes and tried to will away the sharp pang of humiliation.

"It's okay. I . . .it was a long time ago." And just like that, she was sixteen again, sitting in the dark penthouse, so sure that he would kiss her—that he was _dying _to kiss her. And the humiliation that had swirled through her when Serena had appeared and Nate had pulled away as if he'd never even thought about it.

"Too long ago," Nate said, his rough voice caressing her despite that she knew better. "Jen . . ." his voice lowered. . ."let me come see you. Let me show you how sorry I am. About today. About before. About what you did."

Jenny's voice caught in her throat. He wasn't saying . . .was he?

He continued. "It never should have been Chuck. That was my fault. I wanted it to be me. It always should have been me."

She was caught up in a fantasy of a past revisited and a past cleansed of all that humiliation and hurt. But before she could get carried away, that annoying Humphrey common sense reared its ugly head and brought her back down to earth.

"Nate, you're drunk." She cursed herself as she said it but it was true, and she didn't want him to regret it and push her away yet again. Even being six years older, she still couldn't take it.

"I know," he murmured into the phone, "but I want to see you."

Jenny paused, the vodka flowing through her veins was too much to fight, and she finally told him the truth. "I want to see you, too."

"Please," he begged, and the pleading tone in his voice was almost too much to handle. But she was Jennifer Humphrey, and she'd made enough mistakes in her life without letting a drunk Nate Archibald seduce her into a one night stand.

"In the morning," Jenny said slowly, kindly, letting him—and herself—down as gently as she could. She'd come too far to be that girl again, even if she wanted to be.

"Jen, _please_." His voice was slowly beginning to fade against the crowd noise, and Jenny thought she could hear Chuck's voice in the background, asking him what he was doing.

"Make sure Chuck gets you back here safe, and I'll see you tomorrow," Jenny said with authority, trying to end the conversation before he was able to break her down. "Be safe." And she hung up before she could give in to his incoherent pleading for her—she'd believed him before, had been so positive that he'd meant every word of it, and look where she'd ended up. In Chuck's bed, burning every bridge she'd ever tried to build for herself.

As she climbed into bed, Jenny thought that it wasn't that Nate was a bad person; a liar who made false promises to women. It was that he himself had never known what he wanted, and just as soon as he seduced her, he'd get distracted by someone else. Serena, maybe. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, the sound of Nate telling her how much he wanted her echoing in her head like a lullaby.

* * *

Jenny woke the next morning with a horrible pounding in her head and an equally loud pounding on her door. She struggled upright and threw a robe around her body and walked, eyes almost closed, to the door and jerked it open without even glancing through the peephole.

A robe-clad Nate was standing in the doorway, looking just about as disheveled as she probably looked. He was holding a cup of coffee carefully in his hands, as if it was more precious than gold, and in front of him was a room service cart with a coffee pot and several covered plates.

"Breakfast?" he asked, sending her a crooked smile.

Automatically raising a hand to her undoubtedly messy hair, Jenny attempted to smooth it down. "Good morning," she said self-consciously. "And um. . .yeah. That would be nice. Coffee at the very least." She opened the door wider and he pushed the cart into her suite.

"I uh. . ." Jenny hesitated, gesturing awkwardly to the bathroom. "Make yourself comfortable." She turned towards the bathroom, but he caught her hand.

"Wait, Jen. How do you want your coffee?"

Jenny froze. "Um. Black. Preferably pitch black."

He laughed, and she crinkled her forehead. "Loud," she whined, as her headache intensified. "How are you standing here and functioning and walking and talking after the night you undoubtedly had?"

"A mystery to both of us," Nate said way too cheerfully. "But I think it's probably has something to do with how much I wanted to see you."

Jenny's eyes widened and she gave him a half-hearted, deer-in-the-headlights smile before rushing to the safety and normalcy of the bathroom.

With a muffled string of swear words, she looked in the mirror and felt her stomach sink at the angry-looking halo of her hair—some of which was sticking straight up. And that wasn't even the worst of it. He was _here_. In her room. With coffee. Wanting to see _her_.

She'd had problem enough resisting him last night, when he'd been blocks and blocks away, only connected by a weak cell phone signal. If they were alone in a room together, Jenny was fairly certain that it would only be a matter of time before her walls came crashing down.

Her defenses had been strong last night—at least taking into account his not-inconsiderable charm—but under the weak December morning light, they felt as flimsy as cardboard, and it dawned on her that maybe she shouldn't even care.

So what if she took what he was so clearly offering? So what if he never talked to her again afterwards? She'd finally know what it was like to be with Nate Archibald; as much as she tried to deny it to herself, that was an experience she wanted to have at least once before she died. She was a grownup now, and she could handle whatever he decided to toss out at her. After all, she wasn't a weak, silly sixteen year old who tried to be tough, but couldn't help the gooey, sensitive, secretly romantic parts deep inside of her.

She wasn't the silly little girl who'd loved Nate Archibald from the first moment she'd seen him.

Neither was she the girl who'd cried buckets of tears after giving her virginity to Chuck instead of who she'd really wanted.

If Nate Archibald loved her and left, then so be it. It would be his loss, anyway.

When Jenny left the bathroom, her hair combed, her teeth brushed, and a light dusting of powder on her face, she was ready for whatever he wanted. And this time, she couldn't help but hope that this time it was her.

Nate handed her the coffee, and she gratefully took a long sip. "Dark as night," he said with amusement. "As soon as the kitchen heard who I was making an in-house delivery too, they knew exactly what you wanted."

"I _did _live here," she pointed out, plucking a lid off of one of the plates. "French toast, of course," she observed, drizzling syrup over the plateful of food. "My favorite."

"I thought you liked waffles," Nate observed, spreading a bagel with cream cheese. "Aren't waffles a Humphrey tradition?"

She gave him a steady look. "And here I thought embezzling, coke, and political corruption were an Archibald tradition."

"_Touch__é_."

Jenny toyed with her fork, her stomach still vaguely unsettled not only by the copious amount of vodka she'd drunk last night, but the presence of the man in front of her.

"Jenny," Nate said softly, and she was finally forced to look up and meet his gaze.

She took a bolstering breath of courage. "What are you doing here, Nate?"

"You said . . ." he paused and cleared his throat. "You said last night that we'd see each other tomorrow, and I didn't want to wait until the rehearsal dinner." He looked right into her, as if those baby blue eyes could see straight into her soul, the soul she'd had to mend after breaking everything so that he'd notice her, _see _her. But he'd only been able to see Serena.

He wasn't seeing Serena now. He was seeing her. Finally.

"I thought you wouldn't be able to remember any of that," she said hesitantly.

"I did, and Jen, I've got to apologize for that. It was . . .not alright. Not okay at all. I shouldn't have been so pushy. I was . . ."

"Drunk," Jenny finished for him, the sting of what he didn't want starting all over again. She was cursing herself—how could she have been so incredibly _stupid _as to think that he'd come here this morning to start what he'd wanted to last night. He'd only come to apologize for his "inappropriate" behavior. When was he ever going to see her, and want her, and not feel guilty about it because she was Dan's sister?

"You know," she continued, amazed and rather pleased that her voice was so steady and so sure, and not full of the hurt she felt, "I'm a big girl, Nate and I can take care of myself. Apology not necessary."

"That's the whole problem," Nate said in a rush before she could continue. "I see you again, and all I can think that it's _my _fault that you went through what you did. And I not only want to make it right, but I want you."

Jenny thought that this was one of those moments in your life when you could either sit back and let that bitch fate take charge (which is what she'd done before, hesitating that last moment before their lips touched) or you could tell fate to fuck off, and take exactly what you wanted.

She'd been too scared to even attempt the latter last time they'd been alone together, but this time, she was too frustrated, too fed-up, too determined to let the opportunity slide a second time. She set her fork down on her plate with a decided click, and stood, walking over to where Nate was sitting.

"Jen, is something wrong?" he barely managed get out before she leaned down and kissed him. Not an iffy kiss, or a hesitant kiss, but a determined, we-_are-_going-to do-this-finally kiss.

He was surprised, Jenny could tell from the way his muscles suddenly tensed, but his hands gripped her waist instinctively, delving into the soft folds of her robe as if they belonged there. Then he was kissing her back, with more hunger than she'd imagined possible, and they were hurtling together, their mouths fused together, back to that rainy sidewalk, back to that gala she'd crashed with her models, back to the intimate darkness of the penthouse.

She could taste coffee and frustration as his grip tightened on her waist, her robe, and she pushed her fingers through his hair, not as long as it had been long ago, but different. And better just because back then she hadn't been able to touch it, not like this, as their tongues brushed together, and now she could.

Nate broke the kiss first, and for a terrifying half-second, she was afraid he'd pull the rug out from under her again, but then she saw his smile, and knew that if it was going to happen, it wasn't going to happen right now.

"Wow," he murmured softly, his fingers reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"Wow is right," she giggled, sounding exactly like the sixteen year old he remembered—and now was never, ever going to forget. He'd never felt anything like that before, not with Blair, not with Vanessa, not with Serena. Never with anyone else, even Jenny herself so long ago. Suddenly he knew why Chuck had pursued Blair, despite all the good reasons not to. When you met _her, _you didn't let her go ever, even if it was a fight to convince her that what you had together was real.

Jenny's phone rang, breaking the intensity of the moment and as she answered it, moving into the front room of the suite, Nate sat back in his chair, contemplating the food in front of him that no longer looked as good as Jenny herself.

He'd told her, albeit drunkenly, that he wanted to make up choosing the wrong girl. Now, after that kiss, that game-changing, _life-_changing kiss, he couldn't. Matrons all over the Upper East Side had told him under giggling innuendos for years, that he couldn't screw the _right _girl on the first date. Jenny and him, well, they hadn't even had a date yet. He supposed their first date would be the wedding. He would have to be good, _restrained_, until then. He didn't want her to get the wrong idea and assume that she was just some other wedding one-night stand.

Jenny walked back into the room, an inscrutable expression on her face. He was honestly hoping that he'd blown her mind as completely as she'd blown his. "That was Serena," she explained. "She's apparently put off shopping for Chuck and Blair until the _very _last minute."

"Sounds like Serena," Nate said carefully. The last thing he wanted Jenny to think he and Serena were potentially _anything—_though he had a feeling that Blair had already dropped enough hints that it was going to take a lot of kisses just like that one to convince Jenny that he and S were done for good.

"I know, right?" Jenny rolled her eyes. "But I have to go with her on a Manhattan-wide search for the perfect gift. I tried begging off, but . . ."

"It's Serena. No explanation needed. She's relentless when she wants something."

"Exactly. But I've got to take a shower and be downstairs to meet her in forty-five minutes. So . . ."

Nate caught exactly what she was saying, and though he hated to leave her, he knew he should. Before he threw her down on the bed and made sure she was ruined for any other man, ever.

"I'll see you later tonight? At the rehearsal dinner?"

"Of course. It's a date."

"A date?" Nate quirked an eyebrow. "I thought the wedding was our date."

"Oh right," Jenny said, a twinkle in her eye betraying her serious expression. "My bad. Yes, I'll see you there."

"Good." Nate picked up his bagel and coffee and as he passed by her on the way to the door, leaned in and gave her another hard, quick, fierce kiss. "Then I'll see you tonight, Jenny-girl."


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: And the final chapter of this one shot (though I guess it was more like a short story?). I don't think I'll be doing a sequel or anything to this, but you never know. Weirder things have happened. Lyrics are from The Weepies "Same Changes."**

**

* * *

**

_In the magic hour,_

_lantern petals glow._

_I walk away, I walk away,_

_but you linger._

"You seem alarmingly happy," Blair snapped as Jenny rested her hip against the side of Blair's dressing table. "And you're blocking my light."

Jenny moved a fraction of an inch. "Isn't the fact that two of my very good friends are finally burying the last hatchet and getting married a good enough reason to be happy?" she asked lightly. "And speaking of happy, when are you going to decide that things are good enough so that you can finally be happy about your wedding tomorrow?"

Blair sighed and set down her brush. "I know I'm being horrible," she said in a small voice. "God knows, Chuck couldn't possibly be eager to marry the hideous bitch I've been lately."

"He loves you," Jenny soothed, mildly alarmed at the fraught note in Blair's voice. "He can't wait to marry you, hideous bitch and all."

Blair picked up her brush and resumed work on her hair. "You didn't answer my question."

"I know," Jenny admitted.

"Is it a man?"

Jenny had been debating all day if she should confide to Blair about the kiss. She'd see them together tonight anyway, and Jenny was fairly certain that she wouldn't be able to keep the sheer delight she felt to herself, at least not when Nate was right there. Blair _would _find out, it was inevitable, but Jenny didn't want her to find out until the optimal moment.

This, with Blair's burgeoning nerves and fears over the ceremony running over, was not the optimal moment.

"Not necessarily," Jenny said casually, hoping she'd learned enough at the master's knee to fool even Blair. "Just happy."

"Alright," Blair conceded. "After all, you are my number one bridesmaid, which is a huge honor."

"Exactly," Jenny said, neglecting to tell Blair that about a dozen wedding guests had sympathized with her position since the weekend had begun.

"Have you talked to Chuck? Is everything set to go?"

"I got a text from him a little while ago. The restaurant is secured, and the limo will be here in half an hour to pick us up." Surprising everyone, the rehearsal dinner was the exact opposite of the wedding itself—a restrained, intimate event, held in a tiny, elegant French restaurant that Blair and Chuck frequented.

"Excellent," Blair said with satisfaction.

"I'll go let Harold and Roman and Eleanor know," Jenny said, her phone itching in her hand. She wanted to talk to Nate. She wanted to do everything but talk to Nate.

"Go," Blair said, I'm almost ready anyway."

Jenny escaped as quickly as she could, afraid Blair would change her mind. In the hallway, Jenny typed out a quick text to Nate.

_Up for the quiet drink after the rehearsal dinner?_

She had just finished telling the rest of the group traveling with them to the rehearsal dinner when the limo would arrive when a quick buzz of her phone let her know that Nate had replied. She glanced down and couldn't help the huge smile.

_Perfect. My room, an hour after the party breaks up._

_

* * *

_

Dinner consumed, Jenny leaned back in her chair, feeling the champagne bubbling through her veins, mixed with the slow burn of the looks Nate had been sending her all evening from his position across the long table. Candlelight reflected across the gathered group as Eleanor Waldorf got her feet, clinking her knife delicately on her crystal champagne flute.

"Family, friends, I'd like to offer a toast to my new son-in-law, Charles Bass, who amazed us all with his persistence to win over my stubborn, and often difficult daughter." She paused, and Blair, who seemed to have forgotten all her OCD the moment they'd arrived at the venue, merely beamed at her mother, her hand intertwined with her fiancé's. "Chuck and Blair's path hasn't always been easy, though I know she took care to protect me from the worst of it. But mothers know, and mothers know the moment their little girl meets the man she'll fall in love with. And I knew the moment she came home, the first day of kindergarten, and couldn't stop complaining loudly about a little boy who persisted in stealing her headband. That boy was Chuck. Best wishes to you both." Eleanor, now a little misty at her remembrance of that day, so long ago, raised her glass, as did the rest of the group. "To Chuck and Blair!" Everyone echoed, and Jenny thought she saw Chuck brush a tear away from Blair's cheek, and that was almost sweeter than the speech her mother had just given.

Lily van der Woodsen stood, and she gazed fondly at her step-son at the head of the table. "As you're all aware, I'm Charles' step-mother, but to me, and I think to him, I've always considered him mine. His father and I had such a short time together, but I believe that the very best thing to come out of my marriage to Bart was the relationship I have with Charles. It's never been easy, dear," Lily said with a glimmer of humor, "but it's certainly been entertaining. I've never been bored watching you and Blair dance around each other, yet I always knew that I'd be here someday, toasting to you two." She raised her glass and the party drank.

"When Blair was seventeen," Harold said, rising, "Roman and I came to New York to visit her for Christmas. And to my surprise, I found a woman, not the girl I'd left behind. Finding your soul mate is never easy, and being Blair, she made it hard on herself, but I like to think in the end, all the pain and all the strife has left her and Charles in a position to never take each other's happiness for granted." He raised his glass. "To the happy couple!"

Jenny glanced down the table, and wasn't surprised to see that tears were gradually trickling down Blair's face, and even Chuck looked suspiciously misty, but she caught her breath at the combined radiance of their happiness. Looking up at Nate, she wondered if he would ever make her that happy, or if her wish for them was merely the fantasy of disappointed, wrecked hopes.

His eyes never leaving her face, to Jenny's surprise, Nate stood and lifted his glass. "I know," he began slowly, "that it's not traditional for the best man to make a toast at the rehearsal dinner. Sorry, Blair, I know I'm breaking all sorts of rules by doing this, but I want to say something." Blair gave a graceful little nod, and Chuck squeezed her hand. "You and Chuck have always been two of my best friends, even when I hated Chuck or I couldn't understand why you were the way you were. But watching you together over the years, I can't help but admit I'm envious of your happiness. Your certainty in the face of opposition. The combined force of your love conquering all the obstacles in your path. I have no doubt that you'll be as happy fifty years from now that you are right now."

Nate drank to applause, and Jenny was momentarily appalled to feel the tears glimmer in the corners of her eyes. He hadn't been talking about them, of course—he'd been talking _generally_. But still, the hope blossoming inside her wouldn't die, even when faced with the Humphrey realism that he couldn't love her. Not after all these years. Not the way she'd loved him—loved him still.

Finally, as the party wore down, Chuck disentangled his hand from Blair's and rose to his feet. "Honored guests, I know I speak for my lovely fiancée as well as for myself, that this has been one of the greatest evenings of our lives. Your love, your support, to both of us over the years is why we're here tonight, which is why I want to share a story with you."

He paused, clearing his throat, and glanced down at Blair with so much love in his eyes that Jenny felt the beginnings of a lump form in her throat. "I didn't fall in love with Blair instantly—though according to Eleanor, she beat me to it by a few years." Blair giggled through her tears. "In fact, I actually think I fell in love with her long before she fell in love with me." The room froze, especially Blair, who was nearly gaping at him, but Chuck continued unswayed, and Jenny thought that this was a secret he'd been keeping for a very long time.

"We were eleven, and it was Christmas. Bart had left for a business trip on Christmas Eve, and I was all alone except for a few servants. I didn't tell anyone, but Blair suspected and I remember sitting on the couch, feeling very much like nobody in the entire world loved me, and then there she was, wearing a bright red coat and carrying a picnic basket full of food that she'd helped Dorota fix. And though she was expected back at her own Christmas celebration with the father she adored, Blair knew I was alone, and stayed with me. The next morning," Chuck said, his voice softening, as his gaze held to Blair's, "I knew that I'd met the woman I'd love forever."

There were tears and exclamations of love and adoration as Chuck swept Blair into his arms and kissed her passionately, completely, in front of everyone. And Jenny found her gaze magnetically drawn to Nate, and to her surprise, he was staring back, a serious contemplative expression on his face.

* * *

The rehearsal dinner had broken up at 11:45. 12:39 found Jenny in her suite primping in front of the mirror. She'd debated changing out of the dress she'd worn to the rehearsal dinner, but it was vintage Chanel and she looked amazing in it, so she'd kept it on, exchanging her sky-high Louboutins for a pair of comfy slippers. After spending way too much time touching up her makeup, then taking some of it off so it didn't look like she'd put more on, to re-applying again, she'd finally forced herself to walk away from the bathroom. Now, she was in the hallway, focused on _that _mirror, trying to make her perfect hair somehow more perfect.

She glanced at the clock again, the champagne and the excitement bubbling through her veins in an intoxicating mix. Jenny didn't want to look too eager to see him, had always intended on being there to the minute of when he'd said, but she didn't think she could wait a moment longer.

Deciding that waiting was silly when it might be possible that Nate wanted to see her as much as she wanted to see him, Jenny opened her door and walked with determination across the hall, knocking on his door with confidence.

Nate opened the door so quickly that Jenny couldn't help but wonder if maybe he'd been waiting for her too. "Hi there," he breathed out, a crooked smile lighting up his face, and this time, it was him that leaned down, kissing her soundly. They broke apart breathlessly, and Nate wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her towards him as they walked into the living room of the suite. Jenny sat down on the couch, tucking her legs underneath her, and Nate turned to her, holding up a bottle of scotch. "Drink?" he asked as he poured himself a glass.

Jenny hesitated. Not since the bad times had anyone offered her scotch. They knew better than to even ask, but Nate hadn't been around in the aftermath or her recovery. He had no idea she didn't drink it, that the flavor and the nauseatingly slick viscosity and the aftertaste made her sick.

It wasn't even that it was Chuck's drink of choice—they'd made their peace with each other years ago—and she didn't blame him at all for taking her virginity, not when she's practically thrown it at him. Scotch simply reminded her of a time when she'd been mentally and physically out of control.

Nate must have sensed her dilemma, because he smiled down at her. "No scotch? I'll call down to the concierge for something else.

"Vodka," Jenny replied gratefully. "That would be lovely."

Nate picked up the phone by the desk and dialed, asking for a bottle of vodka some ice. "It'll be up in a minute," he told her as he set the receive down with a decisive click and walked back over to where she sat on the couch. He settled down next to her, drawing her hand into his, their heads close together.

"It was a beautiful evening," Jenny said softly, "did you have a good time?"

"I did," he said, sounding surprised at his answer. "I suppose I expected something . . .different? Bigger? More ostentatious?"

"I always forget that you've been away so long. Back then, Blair might have gone for that—after all, that's pretty much what the wedding tomorrow is—but they've changed. Not very much, because I don't think people like Chuck and Blair will ever be truly different, but they're softer. Quieter, I guess. Mostly wrapped up in each other."

"But they still enjoy lording it over everyone, or else the wedding tomorrow would be smaller, right?"

"Of course," Jenny laughed, "they still like a good spectacle. They still own society."

"Jenny," Nate began, before he was interrupted by a knock on the door. He leaned down and brushed his lips over her cheek. "That'll be room service. I'll be right back."

He rose from the couch, and to Jenny's horror, the voice at the door didn't belong to the concierge, but instead to Blair Waldorf.

"Have you seen Jenny?" Blair asked with annoyance. "I've been calling her for half an hour, and she's not answering her phone _or _her door."

"Uh," Nate hesitated, finally swinging the door open farther to reveal Jenny sitting on the couch.

Blair took one look at her, at the undeniably intimate atmosphere, the glass of scotch in Nate's hand, and clearly put two and two together. "Nate," she grimaced, "I'll deal with you later. Jenny, I need your help. Now."

Despite being 24 years old and her own person, Jenny couldn't mistake the voice of authority that Blair used, and just like she was still a minion at Constance, she obeyed her Queen. She rose, slipping her feet back into her slippers, and approached where Blair was standing, arms crossed over her chest.

"What is it?" she asked.

Blair didn't answer, merely grabbing Jenny's arm and towing her past the doorway, into the hall. "I'm in trouble," Blair hissed at her. "I need you to keep me from breaking down."

"Breaking down?" Jenny asked with confusion.

Blair let out a deep breath. "A month ago, Chuck and I agreed not to sleep together until the wedding. I'm 24 hours away, and I feel my self-control . . .slipping."

Well, Jenny thought, that explained a lot—both Blair's insanely bitchy attitude and Chuck's patience with her increasingly bad mood. "Chuck's speech tonight?" Jenny asked sympathetically.

Blair just nodded and Jenny knew what she was going to have to do, even though all she wanted was run back into Nate's suite, and shut the door in Blair's face. But, there were certain things that number one bridesmaids had to do, and this was clearly one of them. If Blair had gone to Serena, the latter would have only persuaded the bride that self-control was too taxing and she should just give in now. Jenny, however, appreciated the romance of the sentiment that Blair was attempting, and having witnessed firsthand Chuck and Blair fall in love, she knew it was right to help them, even if meant cancelling on Nate.

"Let me go grab my keycard in Nate's suite. I'll be right back." Jenny re-entered the suite and Nate's eyes raised to her face.

"Let me guess," he said. "Queen Blair needs something imperatively before tomorrow and she's assigned her favorite number one bridesmaid and ex-minion to do it for her."

"In a way," Jenny said apologetically. "It's perhaps a bit more complex than that."

"It still means that you're leaving," Nate said, a genuinely disappointed look on his face. "I was looking forward to catching up."

Jenny rolled her eyes, knowing that hadn't been all he'd been looking forward to. "We have tomorrow," she said, trying to stay optimistic, but feeling their window of opportunity closing like it had closed so many times in the past.

"Right," Nate said sarcastically, and Jenny couldn't help but be annoyed at his attitude.

"Listen, I'm disappointed too, but there's nothing to be done. Blair needs help and as her friend, I'll be happy to help her."

"Don't you think that maybe you sacrificing everything for Blair should be coming to an end sometime soon? Haven't you repaid her enough for letting the love of her life take your virginity?" There was an edge of hurt in Nate's voice, but Jenny was the one who _really _hurt, the words he used hitting her like body blows. He'd apologized for bringing up the bad times before, and she'd forgiven him. Now, she wasn't sure she could.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Jenny challenged, her own voice rising.

"I think I do."

All Jenny could see was red fury, and she snapped, saying the thing to him that she'd vowed she'd never admit to. "Blair forgave me a long time ago," Jenny bit off in a cold, cruel voice, "because I told her that I wasn't ever in love with Chuck. Not even close. I let him do what he did because I'd given up on you. You were _always _who I wanted to take me the first time. I loved you for years, and instead of committing to me, you toyed with every other girl you knew. I got sick and tired of waiting for you to make up your damn mind."

She wanted to turn and run, but she stayed frozen in place, her eyes glued to his. "Blair knew it meant nothing; that who I'd really wanted was you," she whispered. "And now you know."

Nate was still speechless, her words robbing him of any coherent thought, apparently, especially any declarations that he himself could have made back. And sicker and more tired of waiting than she'd been back at seventeen, Jenny turned and walked out the door.

"It took you long enough," Blair sniped as Jenny slid her keycard on her own door.

"Sorry," Jenny said shortly, not feeling like discussing Nate with Blair. "I had to say goodnight."

"It's rather bizarre," Blair chatted away as they entered Jenny's suite, "seeing you two together. I didn't know you were friends. Or even acquaintances anymore." Jenny followed her into the bedroom, as she set her bag on a chair in the corner. "Besides, I'm sure that he came back for Serena."

That took Jenny by surprise, and she swallowed her hurt to ask, "for Serena? I didn't know they were still involved." If she'd known, she wouldn't have touched him with a ten foot pole. She'd had enough of being rejected in favor of the golden princess.

"Oh, they're technically not," Blair said breezily, presenting the back of her dress so Jenny could unzip it, "but I have my hopes. It would be wonderful for Nate to come back to New York more than once a year."

"Yes," Jenny said shortly, "it would." Nate himself hadn't seemed too interested in Serena, but Jenny had been around long enough to know that what Serena wanted, Serena got. And yet again that had turned out to be Nate.

"I need my beauty sleep," Blair announced as she climbed into Jenny's bed. "And don't let me answer the phone if Bass calls. It's technically already our wedding day."

"Of course," Jenny said, reaching into her suitcase for her pajamas. "I'll just be out on the couch." She was almost out the door when Blair suddenly giggled, and Jenny turned to see her sitting up in bed, the biggest smile on her face.

"Jenny," Blair breathed out, as if the fact had just hit her. "It's my wedding day! Tomorrow night, I'll be Blair Bass."

Jenny chuckled, unable to be angry at Blair when she was so transcendently happy. "Yes, you will. Goodnight, B."

"Night, Little J."

* * *

Nate sat on the couch, unable to move, unable to even process coherent thought since the bomb Jenny set off in her wake. She'd _loved _him? Had loved him for _years_? It seemed too much, too big, for him to have missed, but he'd preoccupied those few years, a constant circus of drama and anger and one girl's face after another. Jenny had been a respite fit into those insane twenty four months, but he'd never even considered that she'd felt more for him.

He was clearly a moron.

A knock on the door echoed through the suite and he bounded off the couch, praying that it was Jenny, and she'd somehow been able to ditch Blair for the evening after all.

It wasn't. It was the vodka he'd ordered for Jenny, and he couldn't do anything but take it and stare moodily at the bottle on the coffee table in front of him.

He should go to sleep. The wedding was at three, and it would be an insanely busy day. He needed to get some rest, but the words Jenny had said kept repeating through him, like a broken record, and each time they gnawed harder at his conscience.

He'd betrayed her. It was as simple as that. He never should have let it get as far as it did with Jenny when he'd been dating Serena. Nevermind what he'd done to her the winter before that—kissing her and disappearing out of her life not just once, but twice.

And now he'd gone and insulted her, accused her of screwing Chuck for sport, making her think that he believed she hadn't changed at all, when he could feel the difference of her. Yet, she was still so much the same—the fiery, level-headed, quixotically charming Jenny Humphrey that he'd known for years.

Nate glanced down at his phone, knowing he should say something, _anything_, but not at all sure that it would make a difference, and he knew, like Chuck had known with Blair, that you didn't just give up. You persevered because you knew it was right, knew it down to your bones and your marrow.

Before he could change his mind, he typed out a quick message.

_Tomorrow. We still have a date?_

It was mere seconds before she replied.

_Are you sorry?_

Didn't she know him at all? He was over here, a freaking wreck because of what he'd said in anger, jealousy of what he'd always wanted and what Chuck had taken bubbling through his veins.

_I sincerely apologize, Jenny. Be my date tomorrow._

This time, she made him sweat a little. Five minutes later, as he was brushing his teeth, her reply arrived.

_3 PM, at the church. I'll see you there._

_

* * *

_

At 3:45 PM, the grueling first half of Jenny's duties as Bridesmaid #1 were finally completed.

She'd walked down the aisle of a sanctuary blooming with orchids and lilies, poinsettias and peonies, and had watched with tears in her eyes as Chuck and Blair became Mr. and Mrs. Charles Bartholomew Bass.

After so many years of torturous angst, it all felt a little too easy. Maybe even a little anti-climactic.

Jenny sat at the wedding party's table at the reception and watched as Chuck and Blair moved as one being on the dance floor, her head resting on his shoulder as if he was everything she'd ever wanted.

Nate had not found her. Their date, if it had ever really been that, all joking aside, appeared to still be stalled at the ground floor. They'd glimpsed each other during pictures, during the ceremony, even as they headed into the Empire for the lavish reception. But he hadn't singled her out or even spoken to her more than a simple "hello," and she was feeling moody and annoyed that she'd convinced herself last night that forgiveness was the right path to take. Instead, she felt gypped, as if he'd asked for something he hadn't wanted at all.

Frustrating her even more was Serena's absence. It wasn't too hard of a stretch to imagine them together, locked away in some nook of the Empire, letting the general romance of a wedding wash over them.

That was supposed to have been _me_, Jenny thought with increasingly annoyance. She was no longer sure that Nate Archibald was such a prize, but regardless, he should have been _her _prize. Not Serena's. Never Serena's. Had Nate ever felt a fraction of what he'd felt with her when he'd been with S? Jenny sincerely doubted it.

Their dance finished, Blair floated over to Jenny's table, her expression beatific. "Having a good time?" she trilled and Jenny had to force her facial muscles into something resembling a smile instead of a grimace.

"Wonderful," she enthused. "It's a lovely wedding, Blair. One of the prettiest I've ever seen."

"I know, right?" Blair agreed. "It turned out wonderful. All except for my number one bridesmaid who apparently can't be bothered to dance or express her happiness at my wedding."

That was the final straw. Jenny _had _a date for this blasted wedding, and she was sick to death of Blair's pointed remarks, of her own soul-deep resentment of Nate being _always _taken. If he was going to be taken this time, god damnit, she was going to do the taking. Not Serena.

Jenny rose to her feet, the folds of her crimson silk dress swishing around her ankles. "I'll be right back," she said to a surprised Blair. "I have something of mine that appears to have wandered away."

She found them in one of the empty special event rooms. Nate was leaning against the edge of a bare table, and Serena was close—_too close_, Jenny thought with resentment—laughing with him as they shared a bottle of champagne.

Jenny had never wanted to think of what that evening at the Shepherd wedding must have looked liked, but staring at the scene in front of her, she couldn't help but think that it must have started out much the same way.

"Nate," she called out, her voice hard and determined. "I finally found you."

"I'm right here," he said jovially, wrapping a free arm around Serena's waist. She was giggling, her face flushed and her hair tousled. She was drunk and he wasn't far behind. Jenny swallowed her anger, and walked right up to them.

"Serena," Jenny said with as much pseudo-politeness as she could manage. "I'm afraid I need to borrow—no," she corrected, "I need to _take_—Nate. He's my date and so far he hasn't been able to give me even one dance."

Serena, despite the copious amounts of champagne she'd probably consumed, clearly understood what Jenny was saying. _Hands off, you grabby bitch. He's mine_.

She giggled again, the sound bouncing around the dim, empty room. "Is that true?" she asked Nate incredulously. "Jenny Humphrey is your date?"

Jenny ground her teeth together. Serena had _never _respected her, and it was high time that Jenny put her in her place. "Blair is looking for you, S. Why don't you go back to the reception and at least _attempt _to fill your role as maid of honor?"

"Blair would understand," Serena said. "She knows . . ."

But Jenny couldn't let her finish. Didn't want her to finish the thought that would no doubt take Nate away forever. In two years, Jenny would be attending another of the Upper East Side weddings, but this time it would be Nate Archibald and Serena Van der Woodsen's, and she didn't think she could ever stomach that.

"Serena," Jenny snapped. "Reception. _Now_."

"Well, fine. I'll see you there, Natey?" Serena sulked as she turned to leave.

Nate didn't reply though, his eyes were glued to Jenny.

"What the hell," Jenny exploded. "I thought you were _my _date. Not Serena's."

Nate crossed hi s arms over his chest. "Serena's a good friend. I didn't think you'd go into a jealous rage because we took some time to catch up."

"Oh, you mean like the way we were going to catch up?" Jenny asked.

"I wanted to! You bailed on me to play babysitter for Blair."

"She's a friend," Jenny ground out. "But that's neither here nor there. What I want to say to you is that I'm sick and tired of being passed over for Serena, or Vanessa, or whatever other girl of the week that you want. If you want me, then tell me. If you don't, then don't make me think that you do."

"Jenny," Nate began, "it's not that I don't want you. . .I just. . ." But he couldn't finish his thought, didn't even know what the thought was. Suddenly, when faced with the do-or-die moment, didn't know if he could literally quantify what he was feeling. What he _could _feel for her. It was something, of that he was certain, but when it came down to it, he couldn't even begin to express it, and as her face grew colder, he knew she was slipping away from him.

"Is that all?" she asked angrily.

"Jenny, you know I like you," Nate started to say, but it was clearly nothing she wanted to hear or nothing like what she'd expected because she just gave him one last look and turned and walked away.

Maybe, he thought to himself, it would always be about five seconds too late for them.

* * *

The flight back to California was interminable—even more so than the one that had delivered him to New York only a few days before—because there was no hope, no potential, no blond hair to gaze at as he sat bored in his first class seat.

He'd gone back to the wedding reception, hoping to find her, but he'd been too late. She was already gone, and Blair had caught his eye, giving him a stern look before she'd been swept up in leaving for her honeymoon in Tuscany.

He was sure that when she and Chuck returned, he'd receive a very angry phone call.

But until then, all Nate wanted to do was forget Jenny Humphrey existed all over again, but this time he found he couldn't. She haunted his days and his nights, and as he stood in the Orange County airport, hailing a taxi, he looked for her everywhere. He knew she'd moved to California right before the wedding and he kept hoping that he might see her again. He called her dozens of times, texted her even more, but she'd steadfastly ignored him.

The day after he flew back to California, he went into work, but he couldn't focus on the speech in front of him, the words blurring together and magically shaping into Jenny's face.

He'd gone home early, wondering if in a few short days (and three proceeding years) that she'd ruined him for other women.

That night, after hearing her voicemail for the millionth time in the last week, he picked up his phone and dialed yet again.

"Nate." Chuck's voice was foggy and satisfied. "I hope you have a really, _really _good reason for calling me on my honeymoon. Like imminent death or bankruptcy."

"I'm sorry, man. . ." Nate said with real regret in his voice, "but I need to talk to you."

"About?"

Nate sighed, trying to postpone the moment when Chuck realized he was completely hooked—and completely whipped—by Jennifer Humphrey. "It's Jenny," he finally admitted. "I really screwed it up with her."

"I know," Chuck said, not a whit of regret or sympathy in his voice. "I knew you would."

"You knew I would?"

"You had Blair Waldorf, the most amazing girl in the entire universe, and you fucked that up. Why would Jenny Humphrey be any different?"

"An excellent point," Nate managed to get out. "But I need to find her. She won't take my calls or reply to my texts. Do you know where she lives in Orange County? I know you probably helped her find her place out here."

"As it happens, I did," Chuck drawled. "But I don't know why I should help you. You never helped me with Blair. In fact, I distinctly remember the feel of your hands around my throat, choking the life out of me."

"I've apologized for that a million times," Nate grimaced, "but if you were here now, I'd do it again, if you'd just give me Jenny's damn address."

Chuck chuckled. "I suppose I could help you out. Go outside. To your balcony." Nate did as he asked, knowing better than to argue or ask what the point of this foolish exercise was. If he did either of those, Chuck would dry up faster than the Sahara.

"I'm on the balcony," Nate announced testily.

"Go down your stairs to the beach."

He plodded down the wooden stairs, and walked out onto the beach, the waves crashing into sand only a few hundred feet away.

"Okay."

"Now turn to your left and walk to the next house over."

"Chuck. . ." Nate said warningly.

"Just trust me," Chuck interrupted. "Go to the first house on the left and go up the stairs. You'll find what you're looking for."

Nate followed the directions, and with every step he took sure that Chuck was trying to get him arrested for trespassing or maybe even breaking and entering.

"Alright. I'm on their porch," he hissed into the phone. "Will you tell me what the hell is going on?"

"You're there," Chuck told him. "Knock on the glass door."

Before Nate could argue, he heard the click of Chuck hanging up. _Fucking fantastic_, Nate muttered, promising to himself that he _would _strangle Chuck again when he returned to New York. _I__f _he ever returned to New York.

A light was on in the house, and he could see the kitchen and the living room of the house. It was remarkably similar to his, though his house was decorated in an airy, Mediterranean style and this was all neutral black and whites with a few touches of ultra-modern primary colors mixed in. Hesitantly, he knocked on the glass, and his breath caught when Jenny appeared in the hallway.

When she spotted him, he thought he saw her smile, and then her expression went completely blank.

Still, she walked over and opened the glass door with a vicious yank. "Nate," she said. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

He'd had a lot of sleepless nights to prepare apology speeches, but faced with her in the flesh, they all flew right out of his head, and all he could offer her was the unvarnished truth.

"Hell if I know," he admitted to her. "But I hated the way we left things between us. I hated that I couldn't tell you that I liked you, liked you more than Serena or Vanessa or any other girl I've seen in a long time."

"How long?" Jenny challenged.

"Six years," he finally admitted. "It's been six years."

Jenny paused, clearly warring with herself. "And I should just forgive you, like that?" she asked archly.

"Being a disciple of Blair Waldorf Bass, I sincerely doubt that you'll forgive me anytime soon. But it would be really nice if you could start so that we could be together sometime in the next hundred million years."

Jenny cracked a smile at that. "That's why you're here? On my deck?"

"Actually, I'm on your back deck because I live next door."

Jenny's jaw dropped. "You live next door?" she repeated.

"I do," he confirmed. "Which is either the most insane coincidence in the history of the world or. . ."

"We've been set up," Jenny finished for him, her expression morphing from surprise to astonishment to something he thought might resemble happy resignation.

"I think you might be right," he said softly. "So is that a yes? Will you start punishing me now? I know it's going to take a long time."

"You're really sorry?"

"I _am _standing in front of you, no Serena in sight. No Vanessa either."

Jenny paused, and finally sighed. "I suppose that I could give you a third shot," she sniffed. "Though god knows, you don't deserve it."

"Do you really think Chuck deserves Blair?" Nate asked.

"Of course not."

He saw the beginnings of a smile on her face, and could barely keep all the happiness spreading through him contained by just his skin. "So are you going to let me kiss you now?" he asked with a smirk.

She shook her head.

"Is there a reason for that unfair denial?"

She just looked at him, and gave him an insouciant smile of her own. "Because."

* * *

Blair returned to her original position pre-phone call—head on his chest, one arm draped across his body, the other hand curled in the hair at the base of his neck—after Chuck finished setting the phone on the bedside table.

"And?" she asked sleepily. "Is it done?"

"He won't blow it again. After all, he's not me."

"And isn't Jenny Humphrey lucky?" Blair grumbled to herself.

"She did have to wait a bit longer you," Chuck observed. "Not by much, though."

"I have to say, Bass," Blair admitted, "that this might be the best wedding present you gave me."

"I told you I could pull it off. You shouldn't have ever doubted my skills. It was like taking candy from a baby."

"You cheated," Blair said indignantly. "You went to Eleanor. Got her to make Jenny even crazier than normal, _then _got her a job offer in Orange County. That wasn't fair."

"And losing is fair? Don't forget that I found her the house right next to Nate."

"Eleanor won't ever leave me alone now," Blair complained. "She lost her best employee simply because you wanted to play matchmaker."

"I do believe it was your idea, lover," Chuck said, brushing a kiss across her temple, "but I'll concede that involving Serena was truly a brilliant move on your part. Jealousy is a powerful motivational tool."

Blair smiled into his skin. "They would have found each other again, eventually."

Chuck slid his hand down beneath the sheet, reveling in the silky feel of his wife's bare skin. "But we know what it's like waiting. . .and what it's like when you can stop waiting. You were right, they needed a little nudge in the right direction."

"Chuck Bass, a romantic. Who knew?" she asked as he pulled her closer to him.

"Now you do," he smirked, "and that's all that matters."

**THE END**

* * *

**AN: I stole a few lines from some Gossip Girl episodes: 2x09, "There Might be Blood," and 1x18, "Much (I Do) About Nothing."**

**Hope everyone enjoyed, and a very Merry Christmas to my readers, but especially to comewhatmayx and The Very Last Valkyrie :)**


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